


The End of Another Love

by MadMax17



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drinking, Grief/Mourning, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMax17/pseuds/MadMax17
Summary: Vanarel Lavellan has just heard of the death of Clan Lavellan and Dorian does what he cab to make him feel better.





	

The room was quiet, any shouting Josephine had expected never came. Instead she was forced to listen to the harsh sound of soft breathing and look at the Inquisitor’s composed face, expressionless eyes burning her.  
“I...apologize,” she said again. Maker, she'd lost track of how many times she'd said that. “I truly am sorry, there was little that could be done by the time they arrived.”  
Lavellan nodded, rereading the report and feeling the words jump off the page at him.  
I regret that my help for your dalish allies came too late to be of use...there seems little left of his clan.  
Funny, he didn't seem all that regretful.  
“Inquisitor I-”  
“There's no need to apologize so much Josie,” he said lightly, throwing on a soft smile. “I understand.”  
She seemed taken aback. “But Inquisitor-”  
“It's fine,” he said. “Come on then, back to work.”  
The others seemed much too tense for work to progress efficiently, each of them reluctantly giving their reports while they eyed the small elf. However, Vanarel was able to keep a straight face for the entirety of the meeting. He was actually almost proud of himself.  
By the end of it, everyone seemed ready to scream in frustration.  
“We’ll call it a night,” Cullen said softly. “I'm fairly certain that's all we needed to get done today. It's late anyway.”  
Leliana nodded. “If we are quite finished then, I need to go speak with my agents.” She left, quiet as a mouse and quick as any assassin worth a damn would be.  
“I believe...I should go as well,” Josephine said, guilt riding her words. Maker, she’d never be able to make it up to him, his entire family, they were gone because of her. If only she'd acted quicker, if only she'd chosen another ally, if only-  
“Josie?” Vanarel said softly, grabbing her attention.  
“Yes?” she squeaked, holding her arms close to her body.  
He smiled kindly. “I don't blame you, ok?” he said softly. “So don't blame yourself, go get some sleep.”  
She swallowed thickly and nodded. That look he had on his face, a soft resignation. The look would probably haunt her for many nights.  
He’d known he probably wouldn’t see them again for a long time, knew that they'd likely all die before he got the opportunity to meet another from clan Lavellan. She walked out of the room, body less tense than it'd been before, reassured by that soft smile.  
Vanarel’s other advisors had been a bit more difficult to get rid of. Cullen had insisted they practice swordplay together, arguing that the elf would never improve on anything other than a bow if he didn't work on it. In truth, he was anxious to leave the elf alone.  
Vanarel had denied the invitation, a soft smile and whispered words of, “I'm really tired, I'd just like to get some sleep,” being all it took to get the Commander to leave him be.  
But when he exited the war room, he didn't go to his quarters. He knew sleep wouldn't help him.  
He walked through Skyhold, composure still strong even in the dark. He looked at the sky and took a deep breath before glancing around.  
Nobody. Good.  
The cool air burned his throat and he reveled in the feeling, enjoying that distraction from the nagging pain in his chest or the dull ache in his hand.  
The mark had been hurting more as the days progressed and he figured it wouldn't be much longer before it became a burning agony through his limbs. He was prepared for that.  
He hadn't been prepared for the end of his family though. He'd hoped...no, it didn't matter any longer.  
“Burning, aching, choking. Where do I go if there's no home? A soft smile, just enough for reassurance but screaming inside, clawing at the glass holding you back. It's alright.”  
Vanarel sighed. “Not right now Cole,” he said softly.  
“I can help,” the spirit said, walking out from behind him and hiding his face behind his large hat. The boy was sweet, but right now, all the elf wanted was solitude, that’s all he deserved. “You don't want to be alone,” he said. “You just think you do.”  
“Cole, not now.”  
“Why can't I help you?”  
The elf stayed silent for several minutes, gently stroking the palm of his hand with leather covered fingers. “I'm not worth helping,” he said softly. “There's not much left to save, there's no point.”  
Cole tilted his head a bit. “But you are still all of you,” he said, confusion dripping from his words. “You help others so often, but don't let others help you.”  
Vanarel sighed again and ran his hand through his hair. “I'm going to the tavern,” he said, turning away from the young spirit. “Please leave me alone for a bit Cole. All I need right now is some ale.”  
He walked away before he could get a response, hurrying down the steps and opening the door to the tavern. It was warm inside and he instantly started sweating, his thick clothing working a bit too well in the crowded room.  
Walking up to the bar he held out a hand and told the man behind the counter the poison he was looking for today.  
He didn't want to forget, he just didn't want to remember right now.  
The first drink was always the hardest, it burned the most. Vanarel was never really all that into drinking, favored hunting as a way to cope instead. But it reminded him too much of his clan.  
Your hahren shows you how to properly hold your bow, laughing as you proudly let your first arrow fly straight into the ground, chuckling at your crestfallen face. He tells you what you did wrong, kneeling beside your tiny form as he puts his hands over yours, comfortingly telling you, “of course you’ll get it! Your father was the best hunter we had, you're going to be just as great!”  
The second swallow didn't hurt nearly as much, his throat still raw from the first. He forced the image of the man who'd taught him how to hunt out of his mind. Not that it helped.  
The keeper scolds you, his brow furrowed in disapproval as he glares at you and your friend with his arms crossed. The two of you stare at the ground, scratches and markings from your brawl still littering your skin as he speaks of unity and togetherness, not aware of the small wink and secret blush passed between the two of you, remnants of nights you’d spent together littering the parts of your skin the Keeper couldn’t see.  
Vanarel shakes his head and holds out his mug, waiting for more to get poured in. He stops the barkeep from walking away and downs the glass, holding it out again as more is poured in. If the man questioned his actions, he said nothing.  
“Hey Boss,” a deep voice says behind him and the elf nearly groans.  
“Hello Bull,” he says softly, trying to keep his words from slurring. “What is it?”  
The Qunari quirked a brow. “Nothing,” he said and sits heavily beside the elf. “Just wondering what you're doing here, I never see you in the tavern.”  
Vanarel chuckles mirthlessly. “Perhaps I just wanted a drink.”  
As the elf stares into his glass he tries to keep the images from swirling around his mind.  
Your sister smiles as she braids your hair, the soft length slipping between her fingers as she talks about her having slipped away from the Keeper’s lessons for a bit. She hums softly, a song from your childhood you'd nearly forgotten. When she's finished with your hair she wraps her arms around you, hugging you tightly and you laugh, holding her arm to keep her there as you both stare at the setting sun.  
“You never just want drinks,” he said. “Something's up, isn't it?”  
“As if you don't already know,” the elf said bitterly, his words coming out more poisonous than he'd meant them to and he tipped his cup back again.  
Bull sighed. “Yeah, I know what happened,” he said softly. “I was wondering if you'd wanna...I don't know, talk about it?”  
“Why good does talking do?” he said heavily, pouring more bitter liquid down his throat. He knew he was drinking too much and too quickly, but he needed to get these images out of his head, he needed to not remember for just a little bit.  
“I've always thought the same thing,” he said. “But sometimes it helps.”  
“I'm f...I'm f…” Vanarel took a deep breath, his low tolerance seemingly catching up with him as the work spun. Bull seemed to have been prepared for what happened next because he caught the tipping elf with such ease and finesse he himself was even a bit surprised.  
The young man’s lightweight barely registered as the Qunari helped him stand, sighing as his knees buckled.  
“Come on,” he said, picking the elf up despite his protests. “I'm taking you to bed.”  
“I should've known,” he said, attempting jokes with his slurring voice and foggy mind. “You've been waiting all this time just to get me in bed. You know, you shouldn’t sleep with your boss.”  
Bull sighed. “You can't blame me when you have an ass like yours,” he said, no amusement in his voice.  
If the Inquisitor didn't know his limits, he'd get himself hurt one of these days. Drinking was all good and fun but the man could barely handle a glass of wine, much less that poison he was tipping back like water.  
The walk up the castle steps was an interesting one, and Bull had debated taking the elf to the quarters that had been assigned to him. But he didn't want to leave the man alone while he searched for his Tevinter lover.  
If anyone could help the Inquisitor, Bull hoped it was that man. So he carried him to the loft Dorian read in, ignoring the looks he got from random nobles littered across the hall or some of Leliana’s agents. He carried the barely conscious elf up to where his lover was no doubt in the middle of yet another of his bloody tomes, completely oblivious to the elf’s suffering.  
Not that it was easy to tell when the man was hurting. By no means was that the case. Vanarel had a habit of keeping his emotions too bottled up until he exploded, usually snapping at his advisors and saying things he regretted before storming off to hunt.  
“Hey ‘Vint,” Bull said, deep voice rumbling through the dark loft. “Where you at?”  
He heard the man sigh. “Can I help you? I-Maker’s breathe,” he said, rushing over to inspect the unconscious man in the Qunari’s arms. “What happened to him?”  
“That’s for him to tell you.” Bull said, turning on his heel and listening to the mage follow him hurriedly. “All I’ll say is he had a bit too much to drink.”  
Dorian seemed absolutely enraged. “That’s all that happened? Bloody hell, the man’s going to-”  
“I never said that’s all that happened,” Bull interrupted him, furrowing his brow in annoyance, glaring at the man.  
Vanarel shifted in the Qunari’s arms, mumbling soft words neither of them could make out. Dorian hurried forward and opened the door for Bull, shutting it silently behind them. He took deep breathes, attempting to calm himself.  
Maker, that man was going to kill himself.

Vanarel shifted, groaning quietly at the pounding in his head. He placed a gentle hand to his temple, his cold fingers offering just the smallest amount of relief.  
“About time you woke up,” a deep voice said from the other side of the room and Vanarel squinted, trying to see through the darkness.  
“Who-Dorian?” he said softly, his voice raw from the drinks earlier.  
“Yeah, it’s me Amatus,” he said softly and crossed the room in three long strides. Vanarel felt a gentle hand rest on his cheek, wiping a tear he hadn't realized was there. “I’m here.”  
“Vhenan, I-”  
“Sh,” he said gently, climbing into the bed and holding the elf closely. “I know what happened.” Vanarel tensed, his body stiff in the magister’s loose hold and Dorian sighed. “Amatus, please-”  
“How?”  
Dorian sighed. “I had Leliana tell me,” he said. Vanarel squirmed out of his grasp and walked toward his balcony, his body silhouetted by the bright light given off by the moon. He watched the man go. “She knew you were hurting, and that you wouldn’t tell me.”  
“I’m fine,” he said stiffly, bracing his hands on the railing and looking over the mountains. The view usually left him breathless, but now he had trouble taking in air for other reasons. “There’s no reason to be concerned about me.”  
“Amatus, I can’t fix this but,” he paused and took a deep breath. “You helped me face my father, I couldn’t have done it if you weren’t there. I want to be there for you when you need me too.”  
The silence was deafening and Dorian rose from the bed, anxiously running his hands through his hair.  
“Vhenan,” Vanarel said finally. “It is appreciated, but...but you don't-” he was cut off when his voice cracked. “You don’t need to...I’m fine, really.”  
Dorian sighed and stepped closer to the elf, trying not to crowd him but knowing the man needed closeness. Maker, he needed something. But he wouldn’t ask for it, wouldn’t ask for anything he needed because he thought he didn’t deserve it.  
“Maker, Amatus, please let me help y-”  
“You remember, I told you I had a lover there right?” the elf said so softly Dorian could barely hear him. “He’s probably dead now too, dead and rotting in the sun because those bastards didn’t even consider moving him into the shade. Creators, Dorian, what if it’s too hot for him?”  
Vanarel turned to him, cerulean eyes burning into Dorian’s chocolatey brown. The mage flinched, but he listened as his lover’s cracking voice, holding himself back from wrapping his arms around him, trying not to crowd the man.  
“And my sister, what happened to her?” he said, tears constricting his voice and he angrily wiped them away. “What if she couldn’t make it away, the Keeper didn’t! What if...what if she’s gone...what if shemlen killed her...just like our parents...what if…”  
He fell to his knees and screamed, holding his head and pulling on his hair hard. His voice cracked and shattered into sobs and Dorian hurried to him, holding him closely, feeling his hot tears soak into his robes.  
“Sh Amatus, I’m here,” he said gently, soft breath rushing into his ear. The sounds of his lover’s cries hurt him more than he thought possible and his heart broke. “I’m here, I-Maker, I can’t fix this but I’m here.”  
“Dorian, I have to...I have to go see them again, I have to...the funeral, I have to-” He clawed desperately at the mage’s chest, eyes burning with emotion. “I have to put them to rest...or they’ll be trapped here, they won’t be able to-”  
“Ok, Amatus, ok, we can go,” he said soothingly, rubbing the elf’s head gently and feeling him calm just the smallest amount. “We will go in the morning, but right now, you need rest, please.”  
Vanarel looked ready to object but looked at the ground, eyes watering again.  
“Creators, lethallin you can't stay up so late,” she’d scold him when she found him lurking on the outskirts of camp at some unreasonable hour. “You need rest.”  
She’d always smile though, a grin that could light up the night and he’d dance around her giddily, begging for a story and how could she refuse him this?  
So she’s lay him back down, make sure he was covered in thick pelts to keep from getting cold and she’d start. She’d always use her magic to twist the air into little shapes, making the story visual and he’d fall asleep to a gentle blue light.  
“C-can you…” he began shakily, voice trailing off.  
Dorian held Vanarel’s face in his hands and looked into his eyes, voice serious. “I can do anything for you, Amatus, just name it,” he said strongly.  
“Can you tell me a story?”  
Dorian swallowed thickly but nodded, standing and helping the elf rise shakily before leading him to the bed and laying him down. The man curled up under the thick covers, holding onto an amulet he said his sister had given him long ago and blinking wearily at Dorian, tears still trailing down his temple. The mage sat beside him, running his hands through his hair and taking a deep breath.  
And he began to tell the only story he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I didn't get another "Champions of Kirkwall" chapter out but I was just so not feeling it. However I can guarantee another chapter next week.  
> So how was this? I'm thinking about doing more like this but I'm not sure yet, tell me what you think!


End file.
